


Where the Spinning World Sleeps on its Axis

by HiNerdsItsCat (HiLarpItsCat)



Series: A Word Here, An Act There [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Corellia, F/M, Hit With A Clue-By-Four, M/M, Multi, OT3, Police Procedural, Polyamory, Prequel, Romantic Comedy, The Adventures of Corran Horn's Stupid Jedi Grandfather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 06:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17259293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiLarpItsCat/pseuds/HiNerdsItsCat
Summary: Corellian Security Force Officer Rostek Horn tried his best to keep things under control: working an undercover case, surviving sabotage attempts by his corrupt colleagues, and hanging on to his best friend Scerra for dear life. He was managing.And then he arrested a Jedi named Nejaa Halcyon.Now Rostek can't decide if he was more nervous about Nejaa destroying his career and possibly the city, or about his increasingly inconvenient crush on the green-eyed Jedi Knight who was upending his entire life.(A prequel to the AU ficAt Their Own Speed and Peril)





	1. Not East Nor West

**Author's Note:**

> _Here then at home, by no more storms distrest,_  
>  _Folding laborious hands we sit, wings furled;_  
>  _Here in close perfume lies the rose-leaf curled,_  
>  _Here the sun stands and knows not east nor west,_  
>  _Here no tide runs; we have come, last and best,_  
>  _From the wide zone in dizzying circles hurled_  
>  _To that still centre where the spinning world_  
>  _Sleeps on its axis, to the heart of rest._  
>  _Lay on thy whips, O Love, that we upright,_  
>  _Poised on the perilous point, in no lax bed_  
>  _May sleep, as tension at the verberant core_  
>  _Of music sleeps; for, if thou spare to smite,_  
>  _Staggering, we stoop, stooping, fall dumb and dead,_  
>  _And, dying so, sleep our sweet sleep no more._  
>  —Dorothy Sayers, _Gaudy Night_ (1936)

Scerra hadn’t expected to hear from him so soon. A week ago, Rostek told her that he was going to be “out of contact for awhile,” which was typically code for some kind of undercover work for the Corellian Security Force. The fact that he was back in touch so quickly meant that either things had gone very well or they had gone extremely poorly. Scerra had a nagging suspicion that it was the latter.

Rostek had been with CorSec for almost three years now and Scerra still found it hilarious that he was given _any_ undercover work, since the only thing that Rostek looked like he could convincingly infiltrate was a prep school. He was just too clean-cut, too articulate, too damn _proper_ to be anything but out of place in a group of hardened criminals, but apparently CorSec had the occasional need for an agent who gave off the impression that he had too much money to bother with pesky things like laws.

What made it even funnier was that they had grown up together: lived on the same street, attended the same schools, came from the same middle-class background. They both studied at similar public universities, though in different cities, before reuniting in Coronet City when Scerra started law school and Rostek went to the CorSec Academy. They were at similar points in their careers—Rostek was a junior officer just barely past the rookie stage, and Scerra was putting in her dues as a public defender—and earned salaries that were more or less the same. And yet, there he was, looking aristocratic as hell even in a CorSec uniform.

On the other hand, they probably wouldn’t have become friends as children if Scerra hadn’t made it her personal mission to dishevel him as often as she could. He took it with surprisingly good humor, teased her mercilessly in retaliation, and thus began a two-decades-long friendship built on affectionate interference in one another’s lives.

However, the Avend case made things more complicated. Rostek hadn’t been involved at all in the shooting of the Selonian woman, but a whistleblower within CorSec had come forward with evidence of a departmental cover-up of Officer Avend’s record of excessive force over the years, and there was some suspicion that Rostek was the one who had alerted the Coronet City Attorney’s office. He wasn’t—at the time, he was still too new to have any information—but the green jackets were supposed to be a united front and any hint that Rostek might not play along meant trouble. His friendship with Scerra, who was one of the lawyers for the prosecution, made him even more suspect even though, as the most junior member, her role in the proceedings was just filing motions and doing data entry. But the ongoing pressure from some of his colleagues was why she had picked a restaurant that was out of the way and not the sort of spot that CorSec rank-and-file would frequent. Besides, they served fairly decent endwa here.

This undercover assignment was supposed to be a sign that things were getting better for him; the case he had been working on before this was nothing short of absurd. Someone with a lightsaber was reportedly attacking people on Treasure Ship Row; normally, CorSec would have ignored it since the victims were all people with a criminal record the length of the Corellian Run, but it was still a vigilante with a deadly weapon and that was enough justification to assign the department scapegoat to track him down. It was an impossible task—a blaster and a badge were nothing compared to a Jedi with a lightsaber—but Rostek had been doing his best. Finally getting a reprieve from this wild bantha chase was a welcome change.

But here he was, back in contact. In fact, _here_ he was, entering the restaurant wearing street clothes and a frazzled expression. Well, at least Scerra no longer had to guess how the undercover op had gone: obviously not well.

Despite his visible distraction, he swooped in for their usual greeting, which was him attempting to give Scerra a peck on the forehead without her ruffling his hair in the process. His time with CorSec had improved his reflexes; Scerra only managed to push a few locks of ash blond hair out of place this time.

Dodging her fingers semi-successfully, Rostek sat down across from her.

“So what happened?” she asked, getting right to the point.

Rostek shut his eyes and sighed. While he collected himself, Scerra attempted to get the waiter’s attention.

Smoothing his hair back down, he finally opened his eyes. “‘What happened’ is a very complicated story.”

“We have a whole evening and my life while you've been undercover has been so boring that it's not worth commenting on. So go ahead,” she said with a smile, “amuse me.”

He looked exhausted. “All right. There is a syndicate that CorSec has been trying to shut down for some time now: spice dealers, mostly, but recently there were indications that they might be trying to branch out into other areas, including off-world smuggling. CorSec detectives saw an opening to insert a person or two into the organization.”

“Let me guess: they needed a wide-eyed sweetheart with a convincing Core accent?” she teased.

A very slight blush appeared on his pale cheeks. “Something like that. I was supposed to be a disgruntled middle-manager at a shipping line who was looking to line his pockets with credits by selling off some conveniently-misplaced stock.”

Scerra noticed that the “disgruntled” expression was still on his face.

“It was going well at first,” he admitted. “I was making progress even faster than we expected. Last night, I arranged to meet with a handful of them, including ones more highly-placed in the syndicate, ones I wouldn’t have had access to before.”

Rostek hesitated and suddenly looked very tired again. “What went wrong?” she prompted.

He groaned. “The Jedi got there first.”

* * *

Rostek reviewed the shipping manifest one more time, checked to make sure that his concealed blaster was secure, and did his best to steady his nerves. It was really only a significant meeting for him, as it would move things forward with Hipit’s people. For them, hopefully, it would be something so ordinary that they would barely remember it.

That didn’t mean that they weren’t taking precautions: Rostek was fairly certain he had been under surveillance since he got out of the speedercab a few blocks away.

He was so lost in his own thoughts, however, that it took him a few minutes before he realized how quiet it was.

The ill-reputed district of Coronet City known as Treasure Ship Row was never quiet.

He quickened his pace: something had happened and it was better if he faced it head-on.

At the first sound of a body hitting the ground, Rostek drew his blaster.

He wasn’t supposed to interfere if his contacts were breaking the law unless lives were in immediate danger… he hoped this wasn’t the case here.

He also hoped that he didn’t have to stand aside and watch a mugging.

The streets echoed with the sound of a blasterfire. He started running and, as Rostek turned the corner, his eyebrows rose and his stomach dropped.

At least half a dozen figures, blasters out, were firing at someone in a dark cloak. Given that they had surrounded their target on all sides, the figure in the center was an easy target. Rostek didn’t know if he could intervene in time, but he took aim at one of the nearest attackers—

A silver lightsaber swept up and blocked a handful of the shots, dodging out of the way of the rest.

The Jedi—who else could it be?—moved almost too fast to track: one by one, each of his attackers dropped to the ground.

Before Rostek could decide what to do, it was all over. The Jedi was the only one left standing in the middle of a tangle of bodies.

He turned to look at Rostek, who froze. He was out of range and Rostek still had his blaster pointed at him, but if he decided to attack Rostek none of that that would matter given what had just happened.

“Oh, hi!” came an unexpectedly friendly greeting.

The Jedi pushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing a pair of light green eyes and a wide grin. His lightsaber cast a silver glow on his skin, almost washing out its sandy brown hue completely.

He surveyed the aftermath of the melee. “That was easier than I thought it would be,” he called cheerfully. His dark hair was sticking out in several odd directions; probably as a result of having his hood up.

Rostek kept his blaster drawn. “Are any of them dead?”

To his relief, the Jedi shook his head. “No, just unconscious. Although…” he gestured at one of the prone figures, “that one is missing a few fingers.”

“I see,” Rostek said carefully. He didn't quite know what to do with someone who apparently hacked off appendages as a matter of course.

“So anyway,” the Jedi said, turning off the lightsaber and clipping it to his belt, “I found them and I stopped them and you're welcome!”

Rostek moved slowly around the bodies, verifying that they were who he thought they were. He swore silently; it was them, Hipit's crew, the ones he was supposed to make contact with tonight.

When Rostek didn't respond, the Jedi frowned. “Aren't you going to… you know, take them away or something?”

“Unfortunately,” Rostek said, feeling his patience eroding, “I can't do that.”

“Why not? They're criminals! Do you need a witness?” He almost sounded hopeful as he asked. “I'm great at observation, I'd be a fantastic witness.”

“I can't arrest them,” Rostek said slowly, “because I was supposed to be meeting with them to continue my infiltration of their employer's syndicate. They were my only way in; only now, since you _attacked them,_ they are probably going to assume I had something to do with it unless I come up with a very good excuse.” Something occurred to him. “Which one of us were you tailing: them or me?”

“A little of both,” the Jedi admitted, absentmindedly scratching at his dark goatee. “But tonight I was following them.”

Rostek fought back the queasy sensation that accompanied the knowledge that the Jedi he had been tracking was secretly watching _him_. “Did they attack you?”

“Didn't get the chance,” the Jedi said proudly. “I was on them like a mynock on a conduit. All in a night's work, though.” He gave Rostek a look that might have been an attempt at modesty if he hadn't been grinning like he just drew a full sabacc.

“Your assistance—your _interference_ —was not necessary,” Rostek said.

“Really?” The Jedi said incredulously as he crossed his arms across his chest. “You're not even a _little_ grateful?”

* * *

“So then what happened?” Scerra asked, having completely abandoned her effort to signal the waiter.

Rostek groaned. “Then I arrested him.”

* * *

“This is Officer Horn,” Rostek said quietly into the comlink clipped to his jacket, “I’m at Bounty and 11th with an assault suspect in custody. I’ll need a pick-up.”

His cover was probably blown anyway, but he still got the Jedi as far from his meeting place as he could before putting the binders on him. It was a risk to even try and arrest a Jedi but, surprisingly, he didn’t try to escape or even really resist.

He was, however, very vocal in his indignance. “I was _helping_!” the Jedi insisted.

“If you want to help,” Rostek hissed into his ear, “then don’t draw attention to us. I might still be able to salvage this case, but not if they see me having to call down a dozen officers on your head.”

“You could just let me go and save yourself a lot of trouble,” the Jedi pointed out, shifting the arm that Rostek was holding in a vise-like grip.

Not hard enough to get free, however. “I had to get both of us out of there before anyone else showed up. And,” Rostek sighed, annoyed, “you assaulted a group of people without cause.”

“Oh, there was _plenty_ of cause! Have you _seen_ them?”

“Of course I have!” Rostek said through clenched teeth. “But arresting a bunch of low-level thugs on a flimsy pretense isn’t going to get me any closer to arresting their bosses.”

“Can’t you just make them tell you where their bosses are?” the Jedi asked, appearing genuinely curious.

“It’s not a matter of knowing _where_ they are—it’s a matter of having enough evidence to bring down the entire gang. We’re building a case, we’re gathering evidence, which is how it’s _supposed_ to work.”

The Jedi did not scoff, but it was clear that it was only because he was trying very hard not to.

“Do you know _anything_ about the law?” Rostek asked, his irritation growing.

“I know about good and evil,” the Jedi shot back. “I’d think that would be enough.”

“Not here, it isn’t,” Rostek said.

“Then what do you even do?”

Rostek refused to answer that. A part of his mind, however, began to finally absorb what just happened: he arrested a real-life Jedi.

* * *

“You know,” Scerra said, as the waiter finally brought their food, “that is _exactly_ like you: to somehow manage to solve a case that was never meant to be solved in the first place.” She shook her head in disbelief, then tucked the dark curls that had come loose back behind her ears. “And he really just went along with it?”

“He did.”

“You weren’t worried that he would try to escape? He probably could, you know.” She took a bite of her endwa, then held out a forkful of it to him. “You should try this.”

Rostek rubbed his temples with his fingers, as if trying to stave off a headache. “In spite of all his protests when I put the binders on him… I think he might have found the experience to be _fun._ ”

“Okay, now I definitely need to know more about this guy. But first, take the damn fork.”

* * *

“We ran his ID,” Bleek, the officer on duty, said when Rostek finished up his log on the incident. “His name's Nejaa Halcyon. Thirty-three years old, born right here on Corellia, assigned here by the Jedi Order as part of their…” She took another look at her datapad. “…something called an Acquisitions Division. Which sounds damn spooky if you ask me.”

“Probably recruitment,” Rostek murmured as he took the datapad.

“Well, why don't they just call it that, then?” she demanded. “Anyway, there's a problem with him, as you're probably going to see in a second.”

Rostek read through the file until he reached the part that Bleek was referring to. “He's the _only Jedi here?”_

“At the moment, yeah. The rest are either off-planet or down near the southern pole on some research project. Not that we had a lot here to begin with.”

Rostek sighed. “So there's no one we can call to rein him in.”

“Or even bail him out. Not without calling Coruscant.”

He nodded. Calling the Order for a simple misdemeanor was an overreaction. “Well, we can hold him overnight without charging him. I'll let him out in the morning.”

He went to go deliver the news.

The Jedi—Halcyon, Rostek supposed he should call him—was sitting cross-legged on the floor, in spite of the presence of a bench anchored to the wall. Well, he _was_ some kind of monk; asceticism shouldn’t be all that surprising.

His eyes snapped open as Rostek opened the transparisteel door, and a mischievous smile replaced his previously-serene expression. “So are you sending me to Kessel?” he asked teasingly.

“No,” Rostek said, trying not to smile in return. This was not the time to get friendly, especially with someone who seemed to not understand what he had done wrong. At least with most unrepentant criminals, Rostek knew that they were operating from the same set of facts, or at least living in the same reality. “You’re going to stay here until tomorrow. Hopefully by then you’ll have had some time to reflect.”

“I reflect on all sorts of things,” Halcyon said, trying to adopt an expression of innocence and only succeeding in looking silly. “It’s part of being a Jedi, after all. What should I be meditating on in this case?”

“The fact that this is _not your job_ ,” Rostek growled. “The fact that you don’t know what you’re doing, the fact that you’re acting above the law, the fact that you’re causing chaos left and right—”

“I’m very good at causing chaos,” Halcyon said, standing up and moving closer to where Rostek was standing in the doorway. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“I don’t want to see anything _else_ ,” he retorted. “And if I do, you’ll find yourself right back here.”

“Don’t you have actual criminals to arrest?” the Jedi asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Don’t you have little Jedi kids to find?” he shot back.

Halcyon blinked in surprise at that, then shrugged. “Not really. Unless there’s someone that got overlooked by the midichlorian tests, there’s not a lot for me to do.” He grinned again. “I have to keep busy somehow.”

Rostek could feel the anger building up behind his eyes. “Then let me repeat myself: if we catch you playing vigilante again, you will be arrested and charged, and it will not matter one bit that you’re a Jedi.”

In response, Halcyon’s green eyes flashed with the kind of look that conveyed “we’ll see about that.”

Rostek stormed off. His case was in jeopardy, he was going to be a complete laughingstock when word of this reached his fellow officers, and he was so irritated that it was almost a physical itch; in short, his night had been utterly ruined.

On the bright side, if his cover was blown then he could call Scerra. Hopefully she would be sympathetic; if not, at least she would find it funny. In fact, the latter reaction was probably better: the way that her face came to life as laughter played across her dark features never failed to cheer him up. Besides, she had certainly seen him in situations even more undignified than this.

* * *

“They took me off the case, of course,” he concluded as the waiter cleared their empty plates. “There’s still another officer undercover and they didn’t want to take the risk that I had been followed.”

“At least it sounds like you made the best of a totally bizarre situation,” she pointed out. “I’d love to see Belane or Freed summon up the nerve to arrest a Jedi.”

Rostek couldn’t help laughing a little. “They’d probably claim that he teleported away before they could apprehend him.”

Scerra frowned. “Jedi can’t do that, can they?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? There are too many stories and they can’t all be true. I mean, I thought they were supposed to be calm and wise or something. This guy is kind of an idiot.”

“He just sounds naive.” She took another look at the menu. “Want to split a dessert?”

“I think I want to get extremely drunk,” he admitted.

“That doesn’t necessarily rule out dessert, you know.”

Rostek smiled. “You order, then. Meanwhile, I’m going to take a very hard look at my life.”


	2. Folding Laborious Hands

The following week passed without incident. Rostek returned to his usual patrols, endured the slightly hostile verbal jabs from his colleagues, and tried to forget about the whole thing.

It worked for exactly nine days.

“I tied them up this time,” Halcyon called down from where he was sitting on the roof of a burned-out cantina. “No need to thank me.”

Rostek glared up at him. “Would you please come down here and answer a few questions?”

“Sure.” The Jedi jumped down and landed lightly on his feet. Noticing Rostek’s wary look, he winked. “Superpowers. So what did you want to ask me?”

“Did you attack these people?”

“Obviously,” Halcyon said. He knew where this was going, Rostek realized, but didn’t seem bothered about it.

He didn’t even complain when Rostek put the binders on him this time.

* * *

“Four counts of breaking and entering, one count of kidnapping, two counts of vehicular larceny, eight counts of willful destruction of public property, twelve counts of willful destruction of private property, fourteen counts of assault with a deadly weapon, one count of assault with a vehicle, one count of assault with a…” Inspector Lydon frowned down at the datapad and then back up at Rostek. “With a commercial structure?”

Rostek sighed wearily. “He dropped a billboard onto a mugger.”

“One of those holoprojected ones?”

“The Whyren’s ad on 44th.”

The inspector’s eyes widened, then he resumed reading. “And seventeen counts of assault. All in the last two months?”

Rostek nodded, not quite believing it himself. Those two months felt like _years_. CorSec (mostly Rostek) kept arresting Halcyon, keeping him in custody overnight, and then, usually only a day later, arresting him again for some new misdemeanor. The Jedi was cheerfully unrepentant, which was why Rostek was here with the inspector, requesting that they finally call the Jedi Order and demand that they do something about their errant member.

Lydon echoed Rostek’s weary sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

Rostek met Scerra at the cantina, looking as though he had sleepwalked the entire way there.

“Tell me,” Scerra said as he sat down, “is he in a cell tonight or not?” This had been her usual greeting lately: Rostek always had a new story about the Jedi and, even if it wasn’t funny to him, Scerra always found it hilarious.

“He’s out.” Rostek appeared to be staring at a spot in the air above Scerra’s head.

“At least you have the night off. Good thing, too,” she added. “It looks like you need it.”

“It’s so much worse than that,” he said, still looking dazed.

Scerra’s brows knit together in concern. “What did he do this time?”

* * *

Belane and Freed appeared almost out of nowhere, one at each side of Rostek’s chair.

“Talked to Lydon yet?” Belane said with a smile that made Rostek very uneasy.

“Not yet,” he said. “I had work to do.”

“Oh, I’m _sure,_ ” Belane said, barely hiding a sneer. “Then I suppose we get to deliver the good news: he spoke to those Jedi bosses on Coruscant, and they’re not taking him back.”

Rostek tried to keep the annoyance from showing on his face. “Well, then we keep arresting him, I suppose.”

“Oh, but you see,” Freed said, absolutely beaming, “we’re _not_ going to arrest him anymore.”

“Lydon made a deal with the Jedi,” Belane said. “He’s going to stop doing his hero routine on the Row and, in exchange, he’s going to work with us on cases.”

“And by ‘us,’” Freed added, “we mean ‘you.’”

Rostek felt the blood drain from his face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean congratulations, Horn: you just got a Jedi to babysit,” Freed said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“He’s in his usual spot,” Belane said, placing a hand onto Rostek’s other shoulder. “Guess you’d better go let him out.”

Rostek grabbed a datapad off of his desk and stormed over to the cell that was Nejaa Halcyon’s home more often than not these days.

He nearly threw the datapad at the Jedi’s head. “If you’re going to pretend that you’re a law enforcement officer,” he growled, “you could at least try to understand the actual _law_ first.”

The Jedi picked up the datapad. “What’s this?”

Rostek resisted the very snotty urge to say ‘a datapad’ and instead replied, “the complete Corellian Security Force Legal Rights and Regulations manual.”

Halcyon’s face lit up. “So the Council approved, then?”

Rostek was dumbfounded. “You knew this was happening?”

“I requested it,” Halcyon said, still excited. “So do I get to go home tonight?”

“No,” Rostek said bluntly, and left him locked up in the cell.

* * *

Scerra frowned in disapproval. “You’re not allowed to do that.”

“They let him out ten minutes later,” Rostek grumbled sourly.

Scerra found this more than a little worrying. Rostek usually wasn’t this spiteful. “Maybe _you_ need to review that manual as well,” she said. “Specifically the part about unlawful detention.”

“This is _not_ the time,” he snapped.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation as she took a sip of her drink. “Sure, he’s been causing trouble, but you _know_ his heart is in the right place. Maybe this could be a good thing.”

“It’s not going to be a good thing,” Rostek protested. “He’s just going to waste more of my time and put everyone in danger and then _grin_ like nothing can touch him—”

“Has it not entered your head that the reason why he’s so cheerful is because he _likes_ you?” Scerra demanded. “I only have your stories to go on and it’s obvious to _me_ that he wants you to like him too.”

Rostek gaped at her. “How could you possibly think that?”

“You’ve arrested him over two dozen times, Rostek! I know CorSec has been trying to clean up its act, but a holding cell at One CorSec Plaza is still not a great place to spend the night. And yet,” she set her glass down on the table with a solid thump, “even though he _routinely_ takes out entire gangs single-handed, he lets one lone officer detain him afterwards without any resistance?” She fixed him with a brown-eyed glare. “He could throw you across the block and probably make you forget that he even did it, but instead he just stands there meek as a bantha cub while you slap a pair of binders on him.”

Rostek somehow managed to become even more pale. “Oh no.”

A thought had obviously occurred to him; one that filled him with utter horror. “What?” Scerra asked.

“He said he requested it… I thought he just meant to work with CorSec…”

Scerra caught the implication. “He requested to work with _you_.”

Rostek nodded, then leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands. “What did I do to deserve this?” he moaned.

“Tell you what,” Scerra said, ruffling his hair. “Drinks are on me tonight.”

* * *

He was probably hungover, Rostek reflected as he dragged himself to his desk the next morning. Scerra had been generous with credits, he had been reckless, and now he felt like his feet were encased in duracrete. Not that he would have been in a hurry anyway; the thought of today’s assignment filled him with dread.

Halcyon was already sitting at Rostek’s desk; in fact, he was sitting _on_ the desk, leafing through the piles of flimsiplast that Rostek had accumulated over the past few months.

“Hi!” Halcyon said, looking up at him and letting the sheets of flimsi scatter across the desk.

Rostek darted forward and kept the whole pile from sliding to the floor. “Get off my desk,” he said irritably.

“Sorry,” Halcyon said blithely, jumping to his feet and grabbing a pair of items from the seat of Rostek’s chair.

“This,” Halcyon said, brandishing the datapad Rostek had given him the night before, “was very informative.”

Rostek was honestly surprised. “You read it?”

“Sure. What else was I supposed to do in there, meditate?”

Rostek arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what Jedi do?”

“Listen,” Halcyon said, leaning in towards Rostek conspiratorially, “there’s a reason why I prefer to run around Treasure Ship Row jumping criminals: because I am extremely, _constantly_ bored.”

Rostek leaned in as well. “I am not here to amuse you. This is not a _hobby_ to me: this is my job.”

“I know.” All traces of amusement left the Jedi’s face and he looked, possibly for the first time in Rostek’s experience, sincere. “I’ve made some mistakes—some really serious ones—but I swear I’m trying to do better.” His eyes were almost imploring. “I want to help, _really_ help, so could we just… start over from scratch?”

Rostek hesitated. He wondered if he could just tell Halcyon to leave, or sideline him from doing anything at all, or just flat-out refuse to work with him. He was exhausted and stressed and struggling just to keep his head above water while everyone thought that he had something to do with the Avend case—even though by now he wished that he _had_ been the whistleblower because he was slowly waking up to how corrupt and vile some of his fellow officers really were—and the last thing he needed was an immature idiot with a lightsaber who could just walk away whenever he felt like it, leaving Rostek to pick up the pieces.

But there was something in Halcyon’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. Rostek nodded, slowly, and hoped that he wasn’t setting himself up for a disaster.

Halcyon smiled; without its usual cockiness, it was warm enough to light up the room. He held up the other item he was holding: a small wrapped packet. They were still standing close enough together that Rostek could smell it: the sweet aroma of whiskey and vweilu nuts. “I brought some ryshcate,” Halcyon said. “My attempt at an apology.”

Something in Rostek’s chest gave a strange twinge. “Thank you,” he said as he stepped back, feeling awkward and unexpectedly shy. He unwrapped the pastry and broke it apart, handing one half to Halcyon.

“I probably should have grabbed some caf, too,” the Jedi admitted as he took it.

“It’s not going anywhere.” Rostek took a closer look at the confection he was holding. “You didn’t grow up here, did you?”

Halcyon shook his head. “The Order took me to Coruscant when I was four years old.” He indicated the ryshcate. “I’d never had one of these until I came here a few months ago.”

“I could tell,” Rostek said with a smile. “You went to Dinari’s; it’s a tourist trap. At some point, I’ll show you where you can find the genuine stuff. Vene’s looks like a freighter landed on it but it’s the best ryshcate you’ll ever eat.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Well,” Rostek said, holding the pastry like he was about to make a toast, “here’s to our fresh start, Halcyon.”

“Nejaa,” the Jedi corrected him. A little bit of mischief crept back into his expression. “Do I still have to call you Officer Horn?”

Rostek sighed, but without much annoyance. “Rostek is fine.”

“Okay, Rostek,” Nejaa said, brandishing his ryshcate, “to our fresh start.”

It was really disappointing ryshcate, Rostek thought, but a nice gesture nonetheless.

* * *

That didn’t stop Nejaa from being occasionally frustrating to work with. On at least one patrol, Rostek had to actually grab the Jedi by the back of his robes to keep him from jumping into the middle of a sting operation.

“You don’t have to do _everything_ , you know,” Rostek said, pulling him back down into his seat at the cantina they were waiting inside. “We’re— _you’re_ —here to observe.”

Nejaa sulked but did not object any further.

“So that manual you gave me,” he asked Rostek abruptly one night, “is there some kind of place where people learn more about that kind of stuff?”

Rostek responded with a look of utter bafflement. “Where do you think I learned to be an officer?”

Nejaa shrugged. “Well, not just by reading, obviously.”

“There’s a CorSec Academy.”

“Think they’d let me go?” Nejaa asked.

Rostek considered that for a moment. It hadn’t occurred to him, but it actually sounded like a good idea. It wasn’t as if Nejaa needed to do any of the basic training stuff—for a bunch of introspective monks, the Jedi Order kept its members in surprisingly good shape—and the rest of it would certainly be helpful.

And if Nejaa committed to a formal program like that, it would show that he was actually serious about this.

Sometimes it was hard to tell.

* * *

Scerra beamed as Rostek caught her up on what she had missed. “Glad to hear you’re finally getting along with your Jedi.”

“He’s not my Jedi,” Rostek said, looking a little flustered.

A very specific _kind_ of flustered, she realized. Scerra erupted into giggles. “Oh my stars,” she gasped. “Oh my _stars_. You have a crush on him.”

Rostek froze and she knew that she had hit the mark. “I do not have a crush on him,” he said. “He is just… distracting.”

“Distracting because you think he's cute,” she insisted.

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“Absolutely not. I’m too busy with work to date so I’m going to have to live vicariously through you. Now describe his eyes again,” she demanded.

“I don’t remember what they look like,” he muttered.

“Yes you do.”

“They’re green and I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” she said, and started to laugh again.

* * *

A few weeks later, Rostek started taking Nejaa out on routine patrol routes. Nothing specific, just keeping an eye out and making sure that an average night of excitement on Treasure Ship Row didn’t become _too_ exciting.

“It’s mostly just putting drunks into speedercabs and giving them a stern look,” Rostek reminded him. “Not punching them into next week.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Nejaa said, pretending to sound disappointed. At least, Rostek hoped he was pretending.

Things were uneventful for a few blocks, and then Nejaa abruptly veered off their route. “What are you doing?” Rostek asked.

“Looking for trouble,” Nejaa said, his expression suddenly distant, as though he was listening for something.

“Is this some kind of Force thing?” Rostek asked quietly.

Nejaa nodded. “My danger sense is going crazy and it’s coming from this direction.” They made their way out of the main avenues of the Row and closer to a section of the city dominated by dark anonymous warehouses.

“Can you at least promise me that you won’t fling yourself right into the _middle_ of what we end up finding?”

“I _could_ , but I’d probably be lying,” Nejaa admitted.

Behind one of the warehouses, they found a landing bay lit up as though a ship was incoming, but there was no indication that one was approaching. Rostek could hear the faint sound of movement and voices issuing directions but, before they got close enough to see who was there, the lights in the bay abruptly cut out, plunging the immediate area into darkness.

“Don’t worry,” Nejaa whispered, “I can still sense them: group of seven on the far side, six approaching from the west and… hang on, let me take a closer look.”

There was a row of crates stacked on top of one another, faintly lit by the streetlights a few blocks away, that they could use as cover.

As Rostek got into position behind the crates, he heard Nejaa’s sharp intake of breath. “The group from the west, they’re armed, murderous—”

Before Rostek could stop him, the Jedi jumped out from behind the crates and ignited his lightsaber. “Get under cover!” he called to the group at the warehouse.

“Nejaa, wait!” Rostek hissed after him. In the dark, he wasn’t sure where anyone was standing. He flicked on his comlink. “This is Horn—we have a suspected robbery in progress at 85th and Forge, likely armed. Requesting backup.”

He drew his blaster and leaned around from behind the crates. As he did so, the lights in the bay came back on. Blinking in the sudden brightness, it took Rostek a moment to realize that Nejaa had jumped to the wrong conclusion: the armed group approaching the warehouse weren’t the robbers. They were the ones being robbed.

Nejaa had already knocked out three of them before Rostek reached him. By that point, the group robbing the warehouse were able to draw their own weapons and opened fire on the rest. One human and one Selonian took blaster bolts to the leg and shoulder; they would live, but it was really only due to luck.

“They’re not the robbers!” Rostek yelled. Nejaa turned to him, wide-eyed, and then realized that the group at the warehouse—five humans, one Duro, and a Wookiee—had opened fire.

Rostek dragged Nejaa behind a nearby cargo lifter.

To his credit, the Jedi at least looked a little embarrassed. “Okay, that was a bad call.”

“Stay down here and wait for backup to arrive,” Rostek hissed. He could already see a CorSec speeder pulling up, and he updated them on the situation via comlink.

“There are two people wounded over there!” Nejaa protested.

“And three others that _you_ wounded,” Rostek pointed out angrily. “Just sit here and _wait_.”

Nejaa fidgeted with his lightsaber for a few moments, and then sprang back up to his feet and reignited it. Peeking around the lifter, Rostek saw him running in the direction of the fallen Selonian.

As the other CorSec officers got into position, Rostek hurried after the Jedi, keeping as low to the ground as he could.

Nejaa had dragged the Selonian behind another group of crates and was now just _standing there_ like an idiot. The Wookiee had taken notice and was getting out what Rostek realized was a bowcaster.

“Will you _get down?_ ” he demanded.

“I’m fine,” Nejaa said, rolling his eyes and ducking beneath a handful of blaster bolts.

Rostek jumped up and tried to grab Nejaa by the robes. “Force powers aren’t going to save you every time,” he said.

“It’s worked so far, hasn’t it?” Nejaa blocked a blaster bolt with his lightsaber.

“One of these days, you’re going to cross the wrong lowlife and get yourself killed,” Rostek snapped.

Nejaa got a very strange look on his face. “How about now?” he asked, and then swept Rostek’s feet out from under him.

As Rostek hit the ground, a bowcaster bolt struck Nejaa in the chest and sent the Jedi flying backwards. He hit the duracrete wall of the nearest warehouse with a sickening thud and then collapsed to the ground.

The other officers opened fire but Rostek instead scrambled over to where Nejaa—not Nejaa, Nejaa’s _body_ —was sprawled out, limp and lifeless. Those couldn’t have been his last words, Rostek needed them to not have been his last words, but Nejaa had taken a direct shot and the way he looked right now could only mean one thing: that Rostek had said the absolute worst thing and it had distracted Nejaa long enough that he could only push Rostek out of the way and then he had died saving his life. Rostek dropped to his knees beside Nejaa’s body and—

Nejaa groaned. “Ow.”

Rostek’s mouth dropped open. “How… _how_ are you alive?”

Nejaa opened his eyes and grinned. “Superpowers, remember?” Blaster fire still filled the air over their heads but Rostek was having trouble hearing it. This man was utterly impossible.

“It’s kind of a specialty of mine, actually—I can use the Force to absorb energy, including blaster bolts. Never tried it with something that heavy before. Good thing it worked.” His smile was so cocky that Rostek was fighting the urge to grab him by the neck and shake some sense into him.

As Nejaa tried to sit up, his eyes went wide with pain. “It does not,” he gasped, “work quite as well with kinetic energy.” He winced. “I think I broke my shoulder.”

Soon, a speeder arrived to take the now-unconscious Wookiee and his companions into custody, and medic transports arrived for the victims. Rostek helped Nejaa into the back of one of the speeders and directed it to the nearest medical center.

Sitting together in the back seat, Nejaa slumped to one side, pressing his non-injured shoulder against Rostek’s upper arm. After a few minutes, Rostek shifted his arm and rested it gently behind the Jedi’s neck and shoulder, taking care not to touch the injured one. Nejaa had apparently fallen asleep, and as soon as Rostek put his arm around him, he rested his head on Rostek’s shoulder with a drowsy murmur.

Rostek held very still and tried to ignore the way that the evening’s adrenaline made his heart race.


	3. Tension at the Verberant Core

Rostek's voice over the comm sounded rougher than usual. “I'll be late for dinner,” he said, then started coughing.

“We can reschedule,” Scerra said. It wasn't uncommon for plans to fall through, given the nature of their jobs.

“I'll be there,” he insisted. “Just late. Debriefing took longer than expected.”

“Well, all right,” she said, still skeptical. Maybe she should bring something to read while she waited.

To her surprise, he was only about half an hour late; however, he looked like hell. His hair was already out of place, which was fine because he didn’t even try and do their usual greeting: he just collapsed into a chair across the table from her.

“Sorry I’m late,” he sighed. His jacket was wrinkled and smudged with dirt in a few places.

“Did you come directly here?” she asked, looking him up and down.

“No. Yes. Yes, I came right from the debriefing. I didn’t have time to go home.”

“You could have, you know.” Scerra sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “You smell like burnt hair.” She took a closer look at the side of his head.

“Most of it isn’t mine,” Rostek said, absently scratching at a spot near his left temple that looked, at least from where Scerra was sitting, a little singed. He actually looked… well, the word that came to Scerra’s mind was ‘dreamy,’ like he wasn’t entirely awake. He sank down into his chair with eyes that were almost glazed-over.

“Are you sure you should be out tonight?” she asked. When Rostek appeared to not register her words, she leaned forward and waved a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Centerpoint Station calling, wake up.”

Rostek blinked a few times. “Oh.” His eyes finally focused on her. “Right. Sorry.”

Scerra stood up, got a firm grip on his sleeve, and pulled him to his feet. “I’m taking you home.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” he protested. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Scerra said matter-of-factly, giving him a gentle push towards the door. “I’m going to assume that your Jedi nearly got you killed again.”

“He’s not my Jedi,” Rostek grumbled, but didn’t resist any further as she hailed a speedercab and shoved him into the back seat.

Climbing in beside him, she got a closer look at his face. There were two tiny cuts on the right side of his forehead and another one on his cheek. Combined with the way he smelled… “Were you in an explosion?”

“More like several explosions,” he admitted wearily.

For some reason, that unsettled Scerra in a way that it hadn’t before. “I was only joking about you nearly getting killed,” she said, shifting uncomfortably.

“To be fair, that wasn’t the original plan.”

“And what _was_ the original plan?”

* * *

“This is supposed to be very straightforward,” Rostek said. “Without a ship waiting in the landing bay, it stands to reason that the group robbing the warehouse a few weeks ago planned to move its contents to a location close by; probably another warehouse in the same district.”

By now, Nejaa’s shoulder was fully healed, meaning that he was able to join Rostek on patrols again. To say that the Jedi had been looking forward to it was a massive understatement: he had been hanging around One CorSec Plaza like a mouse droid powered by caf, popping up everywhere, chattering nonstop, and constantly underfoot.

Fortunately, there was a course at the CorSec Academy that he had been able to enroll in, which kept him busy at least a few days a week. Rostek, who was half-seriously considering fleeing the city entirely, was finally able to get caught up on the work he had missed during those weeks he spent dragging Nejaa to and from a detention cell.

“Wouldn’t they have packed up and moved on by now?” Nejaa asked. “Assuming we hadn’t arrested all of them, I guess.”

“We’ve had people monitoring the district since then,” Rostek said, taking a second look at his datapad. “No one has emptied out any warehouses, no one has transferred ownership, so it is likely that they are laying low for the time being.”

“So we get to go flush them out?” Nejaa asked excitedly. He was almost hanging off of Rostek’s arm as they walked back to his desk.

Rostek paused, turned, and poked him solidly on the sternum with a finger. “Observation _only_. Lydon thinks that your Jedi skills might be helpful in sensing suspicious activity.”

Nejaa grinned. “That’s what I told him, at least.” He saw Rostek’s suddenly anxious expression and laughed. “Come on, you’ve known me long enough to know that I can find trouble. The Force guides me to where I need to be.”

“I don’t know if that’s an argument in favor of the Force or against it,” Rostek muttered.

“Why not both?” Nejaa asked. “So when are we going out?”

“Tonight,” Rostek said. “After dark.”

“I’ll go get some caf, then.”

“You do _not_ need caf!” Rostek called after him.

* * *

“What in the Five Worlds is that man like on caf?” Scerra asked.

“Paradoxically, I think it might actually make him calmer.” Rostek started fumbling through his pockets for his wallet.

Scerra elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Pay me back later. I’m the one who shoved you into a cab, after all.” She leaned forward towards the driver. “Just pull over up there.”

* * *

“So it’s called the Takeout District?” Nejaa asked as they walked down yet another empty street between warehouses. “I assume because of all the boxy buildings, right?”

Rostek nodded. “That, plus the reputation that crossing the wrong person here could lead to a, well, more permanent taking out.”

“Is every district in this city a hotbed of violence and murder?” Nejaa almost sounded hopeful.

“No,” Rostek assured him. “Just the areas they send the rookie officers to patrol.” He flicked on his glowrod and pointed it down a particularly dark alley. “I would assume Coruscant is like that too?”

“Even more so, I bet,” Nejaa said. “There are some levels of Coruscant that most people never go to: lower ones where the sun doesn’t reach, with wholly unique ecosystems of plants and animals… it might as well be an entirely different planet. No one officially acknowledges it and it’s full of people who go there to disappear. Well, maybe not intentionally, but they disappear anyway.” He looked troubled. “And then, on the other end of things, there are places so wealthy that they might as well be on a different planet too.”

“Do people disappear there as well?” Rostek asked.

Nejaa nodded. “The invisible rich and the invisible poor. Funny how they have that in common.” He snorted. “Of course, in the case of the rich ones, they can choose to leave whenever they want. Grace the rest of us with their rarified presence at things like the Luminaria and Fete Week, giving the Senators their list of demands.” He rolled his eyes and adopted a snooty expression. “So _generous_ of them,” he drawled.

Rostek couldn’t help smiling a little. “You know, for someone who spent nearly all their life on Coruscant, your accent is still very Corellian.”

“Some of that’s intentional,” Nejaa admitted. “Or at least it was to begin with: it was the one thing I could really remember. The Order tried to break me of it, but I hung onto it as hard as I could.”

“‘Break you of it?’” Rostek repeated carefully.

“That’s why they recruit members when they’re really young,” Nejaa explained. “So they don’t have time to form attachments to their homeworld. It’s easier that way.” He shrugged. “It didn’t quite work in my case.” He grinned at Rostek. “I’m really stubborn.”

“I noticed,” Rostek said drily. He felt suddenly uncomfortable, but also realized that he was understanding some things about Nejaa that he hadn’t known before; how, behind the manic disposition and constant cheer, he was frustrated with a lot of things: inequality, injustice, and, to Rostek’s surprise, some of the rules of the Order to which he belonged.

As someone who had disagreements with his own organization, Rostek could empathize. He just didn’t know how to convey that empathy.

“I know—” Rostek began, but was interrupted when Nejaa held up a hand.

“Wait,” the Jedi said. He had a look on his face that Rostek was now recognizing as the one he got when he was sensing something through the Force. “There’s something over… yes. That’s them.” He looked back at Rostek. “I recognize one of the people we tangled with before. Three warehouses down that street.” He frowned briefly. “Maybe four.” His expression brightened again. “I'll know it when I see it.”

He took two or three steps before Rostek grabbed him by the shoulder. “Remember,” he stressed to the Jedi, “we're just observing. _Nothing more_.”

“But what if they—” Nejaa began, before holding up his hands in surrender at Rostek's expression. “Kidding! I swear I'll be good.”

It might have been easier, Rostek reflected, if he was able to stay angry at Nejaa for any significant amount of time.

He called it in before they approached. “This is Horn. I think we found something; we're going to take a closer look.” After giving CorSec the address, he and Nejaa made their way to the warehouses in question. “Can you sense anyone watching out here?” he whispered to Nejaa.

“No,” Nejaa replied. His voice was tight with anxiety. “My danger sense is going crazy, though.”

“Then let's go back,” Rostek suggested.

Nejaa gave him a slightly incredulous look. “We've come this far. Why not finish the job?”

“Are you hoping to break your other shoulder this time?”

The Jedi laughed. “I promise, we'll both walk out of this in one piece. Hey, I can see an exhaust vent up there. Feel like climbing?”

* * *

By the time they got up to Rostek’s apartment, he was a little unsteady on his feet.

“Sit,” Scerra ordered, practically dumping him onto the couch. She looked around and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t even know how to help you here, other than to make sure you stay put. You don’t have a concussion, do you?”

“No, just tired,” he said. “Stay. I have to finish telling you what happened.”

“True, you still haven’t gotten to the explosions part.”

He shrugged off his green CorSec jacket, revealing only a sleeveless undershirt. The buttoned-up shirt that was part of his standard uniform was absent. “What happened to your shirt?” Scerra asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rostek suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable. Scerra grinned and took a seat next to him on the couch. “Spill,” she ordered eagerly.

* * *

“It's them, all right,” Nejaa confirmed in a whisper that barely reached Rostek's ear. “Those two on the right, at the end.”

Rostek leaned in, nearly pressing his forehead against the metal grate that was this warehouse's excuse for ventilation. The two humans on the end matched the ones he remembered from the arrest the night Nejaa broke his shoulder.

“Previt and Windt, the Wookiee said their names were,” Rostek replied. CorSec had only been able to apprehend two of the robbers, who claimed that they were just independent thieves seizing an opportunity. CorSec detectives were suspicious but couldn't do much more than charge the two that they had in custody and send Rostek and Nejaa out to find the others.

Rostek then realized that they weren't the only ones who looked familiar. “That Selonian,” he whispered to Nejaa, “she was one of the people who tried to _stop_ the robbery.”

In the faint light, he could see Nejaa's eyes widen. “You're right. I remember pulling her behind cover during the firefight.”

“Can you hear what they're saying?” Rostek asked.

“I could if someone would stop _hissing_ at me,” Nejaa replied, annoyed. He frowned as he nudged Rostek's head away from the grate with his own, trying to get a better view. “I see a door to the back down there. If it isn't being monitored, I bet we could eavesdrop much better from that spot.”

They climbed back down to street level quietly.

“Was today Life Day and no one told me?” Nejaa whispered excitedly as they approached the back door. “Look: someone tried breaking into this place at some point.”

The door was still intact but the frame was bent out of shape (by some kind of prying tool, Rostek assumed) so severely that there was a narrow gap between it and the wall. There was enough of a difference in their height that Rostek was able to peek over the top of Nejaa’s head and see what was going on inside the warehouse.

“—only luck that I wasn’t killed,” the Selonian snapped impatiently.

“What, were we just supposed to ignore you?” one of the humans who they recognized—Windt—retorted. “It would have made things kind of obvious.”

“You were supposed to leave your weapons on stun, you dimwit.”

“There was a _Jedi_ there!” he protested.

There were eight people inside: the two human robbers, the Selonian woman, two people in noticeable body armor flanking her, and three other people who Rostek did not recognize. The warehouse was nearly empty of any items and, in fact, seemed to be in rough enough shape that Rostek was surprised it was still standing.

“Stop your whining,” she scoffed. “So what if there was a Jedi there? He’s CorSec’s little pet, he’ll do whatever they tell him to do.”

“If only that were true,” Rostek muttered. Nejaa gave him a gentle elbow to the stomach in response.

“Then count yourself lucky that you didn’t end up like that other Selonian snip—” Previt, the other human from the robbery, replied, before the Selonian backhanded him across the face.

“Now,” she said, almost kindly remonstrative, “I agreed to talk to you in order to provide you with some useful _feedback_. Perhaps even give you a chance to apologize for your screw-ups. But I see that you would prefer to receive your consequences in a more direct fashion.”

The Selonian made a quick gesture, and the two people by her side opened fire on the two attempted thieves.

“Go!” Rostek said, for once shoving Nejaa in the direction of a fight instead of away from it. The Jedi didn't need much encouragement: he ignited his lightsaber and cut a hole in the door before Rostek was even done speaking.

By the time they made it inside, the other three people had scattered for cover. There wasn't much to be found, though, but the Selonian and her companions were heading for the door on the other side of the warehouse. Rostek was taking aim at one of the shooters when he saw the woman take out a small metal device.

Those types of remote switches were cheap and easy to customize. Rostek's suspicion about this one's purpose was confirmed when he looked up and saw the detonators planted around the perimeter of the space.

“She's going to blow it up!” he yelled to Nejaa, and pushed one of the people in hiding towards the door. She wouldn't set them off until she was clear of the blast, which gave them time to get people out. Rostek ran to check on Windt and Previt; both of them were dead.

He wasn't sure if Nejaa had heard him, he wasn't sure if anyone was still in here, and he could no longer see the Selonian or her minions—

Perversely, the detonators exploded one at a time, apparently to give everyone in the warehouse enough time to fully grasp their impending demise before being consumed in fire and shrapnel.

Something hit Rostek in the chest and knocked him flat onto his back.

He thought it was a shockwave, the first step in his unavoidable death, but instead it was Nejaa, having tackled him and shielded him from the blast. The noise was deafening and the heat was incredible… but he wasn’t dead. At least, not yet.

When it was clear that the danger had passed, Rostek opened his eyes to find himself face to face with Nejaa. “Are you all right?” Rostek asked, relieved that his mind was focusing on matters more vital than the fact that Nejaa was lying on top of him.

“I’m fine,” Nejaa said. “Just a little crispy; I think the shield I created worked pretty well.” He looked exhausted, almost sleepy; Rostek tried to tell himself that the reason why he was staring into those half-lidded green eyes was to make sure that Nejaa didn’t have a concussion. He also tried to tell himself that the reason why he didn’t try to get up was because he didn’t know if Nejaa was underestimating the extent of his injuries.

The only reason why his heart was pounding was because he had just been in mortal danger.

“Thank you,” he said.

“My pleasure,” Nejaa said, grinning. As he rolled off of Rostek and stood up, however, his expression changed to one of alarm. “Oh,” he said, eyes widening slightly. “Oh no.”

“What is it?” Rostek sprang to his feet and anxiously leaned over to look at Nejaa's back. He was expecting to see a mass of burns; instead, he saw that the entire back of Nejaa's robes had been completely destroyed, leaving Rostek with a clear view of the Jedi's bare skin, completely unharmed and unmarked, from between his tan shoulder blades all the way down to his—

Oh.

* * *

“Let me guess,” Scerra said with a wicked grin. “His absolutely gorgeous ass?”

To her utter delight, Rostek blushed.

“Details. Now,” she insisted.

“Absolutely not.”

“I should have left you at the restaurant,” she said, mock-petulantly.

* * *

They were both standing in a burning room and apparently still had time to be embarrassed.

“Did… did everyone else make it out?” Rostek finally managed to say.

“Yes,” Nejaa said, turning back to face him. “Other than the two that were already dead.”

The warehouse, what remained of it, was rapidly filling with smoke. “We should head outside before we suffocate,” Rostek said. He was already dizzy but he couldn't tell if it was because of the smoke, the impact with the ground, or the view he just had.

They went out the way they came in, through the space created by Nejaa's lightsaber, and into the night air. Everyone else had fled, Rostek noticed with a flash of anger. They had no leads whatsoever.

“If we hadn't been there, she would have killed them and blown up the warehouse anyway,” Nejaa said, as though he was reading Rostek's thoughts—which, Rostek realized nervously, is what he may have actually done.

He was too tired to puzzle through that suspicion, so instead he sighed. “And if we hadn't been there, the other people inside might not have escaped at all.”

“Maybe CorSec will spot them on their way in.” Nejaa started awkwardly pulling at what remained of his robes.

“Here,” Rostek said, taking off his jacket and then his shirt. He handed the latter garment to Nejaa. “Tie that around your waist.” Putting his jacket back on over his undershirt, Rostek keyed his comm and conveyed descriptions of the people they had seen inside.

“I didn't mean to pick up on your thoughts before,” Nejaa said after Rostek had finished his call. “My concentration was a little screwed up and I reached without realizing what I was doing. I'm sorry.”

“No harm done,” Rostek said. “Don't worry about it.”

“I have plenty of things to worry about, though. Might as well worry about all of them at once. You were the only one still in there, you know: just standing in the middle of the room,” Nejaa said, pulling the sleeves of Rostek's shirt into a knot. He laughed. “Which really sounds more like the kind of thing that _I'd_ do, not you.”

“I guess I'm picking up some bad habits from you,” Rostek said, smiling. He felt a little faint, now that the adrenaline had worn off. “At least _I_ didn't get shot.”

“I wouldn't recommend it,” Nejaa said. He still had that slightly-sleepy look on his face. “That whole energy-absorption thing is convenient, but it's hell on my wardrobe.” He gestured down at the shirt around his waist. “Yours too.”

“It's why I have a spare,” Rostek said mildly, plucking at the collar of his undershirt.

For the briefest of moments, he thought he saw Nejaa's eyes flick from Rostek's face to his torso and then back again. At least, that's what he _thought_ he saw; he might have just imagined it.

Before Rostek could think any further along those lines, he saw the lights of the approaching CorSec vehicles. “Let's go meet our backup.”

“Remember when you said tonight was supposed to be straightforward?” an exhausted Nejaa asked as they walked.

“I would have thought that this sort of thing counted as straightforward for you.”

* * *

At this point, they were snuggled together on the couch. “Very chivalrous of you, giving him your shirt,” Scerra said, lacing her fingers through his.

“He didn’t have a lot of dignity to begin with; I had to help him salvage what little he had left.”

“You should have just kissed him.”

He snorted. “Everything was on fire.”

“Mood lighting?” she suggested teasingly.

“He’s a Jedi. They don’t do those things.” He sounded a little wistful, Scerra noted with some satisfaction.

“Are you sure?”

Rostek didn’t answer. They sat in silence for awhile until he finally said “I think you’d like him.”

“I know I’d like him,” she replied. “I’m surprised he’s never come with you to dinner.”

“That was intentional on my part. I wanted time alone with you.”

“To gossip, obviously.”

“Well, obviously,” he said with a sleepy smile.

Scerra yawned and checked her chrono. “I should head home. I have to prep for a deposition in the afternoon.”

It took until she had stood up completely for her to notice that she was still holding his hand. Or, rather, he was still holding her hand; gently enough that she could pull away without effort… but she found that she didn’t want to, not yet.

Rostek looked like he was still dreaming as he stared up at her, an unspoken question beginning to stir behind his grey eyes. A strange sensation of warmth crawled up Scerra’s back and wrapped itself around her throat.

She gave his hand a squeeze and then eased her fingers away. “Give me a call tomorrow, all right?” she asked.

He looked away, embarrassed. “I will,” he said. “Thank you for helping me home.”

“It was either that or leave you passed out on the street,” she said lightly. “Your Jedi should take better care of you.”

Rostek groaned and slumped over on the couch, mumbling his usual objection into the cushions. She left without another word.

It wouldn’t be the first time this had happened, she reminded herself as she stood outside his building waiting for the speedercab. It was always a sign that one of them was piloting on a completely errant course when they were desperate enough to consider the other one as an option. Luckily, they were both practical enough to shut that potential mess down before it got that far.

Tonight had been a little closer to a bad decision than usual: Rostek was feeling confused and vulnerable and Scerra was feeling worried and overprotective, both of which were recipes for disaster on their own and even more dangerous simultaneously.

It was really depressing when she thought about it for too long, but she only had one friend in Coronet City and it was Rostek. She didn’t have time for anyone else; she didn’t even really have time for him except that they kept similar hours and neither of them minded when the other one was in a rotten mood.

Not that she believed any of the cliches about sex ruining friendships, of course. The problem was that she wasn’t entirely sure that she and Rostek _were_ just friends. They were more a tangle of emotions, opinions, and history, bottled up like whiskey. Consumed sparingly, sometimes to excess on special occasions, but far too potent for everyday sustenance.

She knew how Rostek tended to be in romantic relationships. Sweet, loving, attentive—far too attentive, actually. If he ever tried acting that way with her, she’d have to knock him unconscious in order to get a moment’s peace.

Well, maybe that Jedi of his could handle it.

Scerra briefly snorted with laughter as she got into the cab. Stars above, Rostek really needed to get laid.


	4. In Dizzying Circles Hurled

Rostek was still a little embarrassed the next morning, over both the incident with Nejaa and the almost-incident with Scerra.

He and Scerra were both nearly thirty; surely by now they had put these teenage impulses behind them. Apparently not. Apparently he was still occasionally falling prey to the silly fallacy that being physically affectionate with someone was a prelude to sex.

He loved her, but… That was it, he supposed: he loved her, _but_. But she was his best friend. But she didn't want to. But affection and sex weren't sufficient for a romantic relationship. But it would be a disaster.

That didn't keep him from wondering “what if,” and he knew she wondered sometimes, too.

And then there was the time years ago that they still joked about: that one night shortly after they reunited in Coronet City after university, when Rostek, drunk on whiskey and sentimentality and the aftereffects of a bad breakup, proposed to her.

They were both drunk at the time and had gotten to the point in the evening where they were sloppily snuggled up on the pathetic excuse for a couch that Rostek had back then.

“You're nice,” he was mumbling into her hair. “You're so nice, I'm so glad you're here, you're so—”

“Nice, I know,” Scerra groaned. She sighed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I missed you so much,” she murmured. “Let's never go anywhere ever again,” she declared, making a lazy sweeping gesture with her other arm.

“Stay here,” Rostek agreed. “Forever.” He nuzzled against her neck. “Hey, we should get married.”

She laughed, more like a sharp giggle than anything else. “It would make my sisters happy, I bet,” she said.

“That wasn't a no,” he pointed out, starting to giggle as well.

“You're just after that sweet lawyer money I'll be earning in a few years.” She tried to ruffle his hair but instead ended up in a sleepy one-handed slap fight with him.

“Come on,” he said, still trying to fend off her fingers, “marry me.”

“You're drunk.”

“So are you. Let's do it, I bet we can find someone tonight—”

“I don't think either of us can even find our _shoes_ tonight,” she snickered. Her expression softened. “Stay here,” she pleaded.

“I'll stay.” He snorted. “I live here.”

“I don't want you to go,” she whispered.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he assured her. “I promise.”

They lay curled up together on the couch until they fell asleep.

That was as close as they ever got.

* * *

In the aftermath of the warehouse explosion, CorSec was attempting to put the pieces together, both literally and figuratively.

“Right, but _why_ would she be playing both sides?” Inspector Lydon asked. He was more musing out loud than looking for a specific answer from Rostek or any of the other officers in the briefing room. He glanced at Bleek. “And nothing about her came up in the system when she gave her statement after the robbery?”

Bleek shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Probably a fake name,” Belane pointed out.

“Probably,” Bleek agreed. “The contact info she gave us certainly was. Even biometrics didn't pick her up; there are enough Selonians immigrating nowadays—or just here on a temporary visa—that our planetary records are still trying to catch up.”

Rostek overheard someone mutter something about a “furball infestation” and tried not to turn around and glare at them. It was probably Freed anyway.

“If she was walking around with hired guns,” Rostek said, “then it’s likely that she’s part of a larger organization. Not in charge—most bosses don’t tie off loose ends in person like that, especially for a couple of low-level thieves—but high up enough that she didn’t have to do the killing herself.”

“Blowing up a warehouse is kind of overkill, don’t you think?” Bleek asked.

“It was falling apart,” Rostek pointed out.

“Then they weren't planning on moving whatever it was they were taking out of that other warehouse,” Lydon realized. “Not there, at any rate.”

“Anything on the other people with her at the prior incident?” Rostek asked.

“We're still waiting to hear back,” Bleek said. “In fact… let me go check.” She dashed out of the briefing room.

She was back only a minute later. “We got one,” Bleek said excitedly. “The Selonian apparently first met with them at a cantina on the Row called the First Light.”

“I've heard of that one,” Belane piped up. “Private club, more like it. Half of the place is blocked off.”

“Can we get a warrant to bug the members-only area?” Rostek asked.

“I'll see what I can do,” Lydon said. “Do you think you and Halcyon could find a way in?”

Rostek shrugged uneasily. “I'll ask him.”

“Maybe he can turn invisible,” Freed said, a little too loudly.

“I wouldn't joke about that,” Rostek said drily. “For all we know, he's been in this room the whole time.”

To Rostek's satisfaction, Freed actually looked a little worried.

“Right,” Lydon concluded. “Take a break for now; we'll reconvene after I've had a chance to request a warrant.”

Everyone else filed out of the briefing room except for Freed, who grabbed Rostek by the shoulder to hold him back.

“Try not to blow this one up, Horn,” he said, keeping a firm grip on Rostek's shoulder.

“Wasn't my call: I wasn't the one with the detonator. If I had been, I guarantee the ending would have been very different,” Rostek replied, trying to keep his voice light.

“Lucky thing your Jedi was there.”

Rostek fought back the reflex to say that Nejaa wasn't _his_ Jedi. It was only funny when it was with Scerra; here, it would have just sounded defensive.

When Rostek didn't respond, Freed decided to keep needling him. “I wonder if he'll try to cut down the entire cantina on his own… or do you think he'll leave a couple of scumbags for you?”

“Did you miss the plan, Freed?” Rostek asked sarcastically. “We're just looking, not touching.”

“Oh, I paid attention. Tracking down a… she's a Selonian, isn’t she?” Freed said, a mocking expression of shock on his face. “Well, you’ll have to be careful, Horn.” He leaned in and continued in a quiet sneer. “If you slip up, there’ll be no one here who can help you.” Before Rostek could reply, Freed left him behind in the briefing room.

Rostek understood the implication. Freed and Belane’s hands were supposedly clean in regards to the Avend cover-up, but it wasn’t a secret where their sympathies lay. It also wasn’t a secret that they thought Rostek was feeding information to Scerra, even though there was nothing to tell her that would be even remotely useful for the prosecution.

It would be just like them to try and get him in trouble with a suspect that was a Selonian. It wouldn’t matter that the woman Avend shot had done nothing to justify police attention to begin with; Freed and Belane would still think of it as delicious irony.

They had tried screwing with his reports, they had tried to sabotage some of his cases, they had made sure that he was put on the worst patrols and given the most pointless tasks. He had nearly been suspended a year ago on suspicion that he had taken a bribe—an accusation that had only been dropped when he was able to produce holo footage of the incident in question. Rostek kept meticulous records, made sure his actions were above reproach, and vowed that he would never back down. They could try their hardest to get rid of him, but he refused to let them win. The only way CorSec was going to change, in Rostek’s opinion, was if people like him stuck with it and made sure that people like Belane and Freed were kept away from positions of power.

He wasn’t going to lie to himself about his ambitions: he planned to be in charge of this place one day, and petty slimeballs like Freed weren’t going to be able to do a thing to stop him.

“Just so you know,” Scerra once said when he expressed as much to her, “the look in your eyes when you talk about that is more than a little scary.”

“It’s them that should be afraid,” Rostek said.

“I believe you,” she said. “It’s just a long way from that wide-eyed sweetheart you were a few minutes ago. You look like a damn Loth-wolf.”

He laughed. “I guess this is what I’m like when I want something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “The next person you get a crush on had better watch out, then.”

As if on cue, Nejaa appeared in the doorway of the briefing room so quickly that Rostek briefly wondered if he _had_ been invisible.

“Anything exciting happen?” the Jedi asked.

“Not yet,” Rostek said. “We might be going out for a drink soon, though.”

Nejaa grinned. “Looking forward to it.”

Rostek briefly froze in alarm and could feel his cheeks reddening, but Nejaa was already on his way back to Rostek's desk.

* * *

The First Light—an obvious reference to Coronet City's exclusive Lastdark Club—was packed to the brim with people of all ages, species, and aesthetics. Fortunately, that meant that someone in Jedi robes didn't stick out that much.

“Do you have any clothes that aren't Jedi robes?” Rostek asked Nejaa before they left CorSec.

“I still have that shirt of yours,” he replied. “Doesn't fit me, though: you're a little too tall.”

“You tried it on?” Rostek asked.

“It was a nice shirt!” Nejaa protested.

They moved slowly through the crowd towards the back where the door to the members-only section was. The music was so loud that it felt like a physical assault on Rostek's skin.

“This is fun!” Nejaa yelled in his ear.

“This isn't why we're here,” Rostek reminded him. “We need to find a way into the back and you haven't explained how you're planning to do that yet.”

“Just get me into range,” Nejaa said.

“You're just winging it, aren't you?”

“I'm waiting for guidance from the Force!” he insisted.

“So… winging it, then.”

Nejaa scowled but his eyes were still bright.

After a lot of maneuvering, they got within visual range of the door. “Basic keypad access,” Nejaa said. “Someone's going to go in eventually and we'll be able to see what the code is. Well,” he added, “by ‘we’ I mostly mean ‘me.’”

“In the meantime,” Rostek said, “try to look casual.”

“I'm _always_ casual.”

“Well, you're not _wrong,_ I guess,” Rostek conceded. Most days, Nejaa looked like he had just rolled out of bed.

Finally, a slightly woozy-looking Togruta wandered up to the door and punched in his code. From the look on Nejaa's face, he apparently had been able to observe it well enough to recall it.

“That was over ten digits,” Rostek said nervously.

Nejaa beamed. “Superpowers, remember? Let's go.”

Rostek double-checked the palm-sized hidden cameras that CorSec had provided him for this operation, and followed Nejaa inside.

The door slid open, revealing a dark and empty corridor that was surprisingly quiet once the door to the rest of the cantina slid shut behind them. Ahead of them, before the next door, was an apparatus that was probably a weapons scanner. The chair and console next to it indicated that it was typically staffed by someone.

“Exclusive enough to need guards,” Rostek muttered, “but not enough to have them here?”

“Shh,” Nejaa said. “I can hear something.”

A shout from the other side of the far door: “—a duplicate code. Who's out watching the door?”

“They're coming,” Rostek said urgently. “We need to get out, now.”

Instead, Nejaa grabbed Rostek from behind and hauled him into the space between the console and the scanner.

“This is not a hiding place,” Rostek hissed. “They're going to see us.”

“Relax,” Nejaa whispered. “They're _not_ going to see us. I've got this, okay?”

“Some sort of Force illusion?” he asked. It was a tight fit in this space, he realized, which meant that he and Nejaa were standing close enough that Rostek could feel every bit of muscle under the Jedi's robes.

“As I said: superpowers come in handy once in a while,” Nejaa said. He still had his arms wrapped around Rostek's waist. “But we do need to be quiet.”

Rostek wasn't sure _how_ he was going to be quiet when it felt like his heart was pounding at a volume loud enough to be heard from orbit.

“Relax,” Nejaa whispered again, his voice so quiet that Rostek didn't so much hear the words as feel them on the skin near his ear.

What if he just turned around and grabbed that man by his ridiculous face and—

A pair of guards ran past them without stopping or even looking.

“See?” Nejaa whispered in his ear. “Nothing to worry about.”

Rostek privately disagreed: he was extremely worried, but for completely different reasons.

* * *

The occupants of the back of the cantina were a raucous and easily distracted group, which made the rest of the operation very straightforward: they made their observations, planted the hidden cameras, and then left without any further encounters.

The results were even better than they expected.

“You're not going to believe this,” Bleek said when Rostek came back to work the next morning. “I don't know how that Jedi did it, but the two of you managed to stumble into a breakthrough in the Hipit case.”

Rostek blinked in surprise. “She works for Hipit?”

“We caught her on holovid with two of his top lieutenants,” Bleek said. She looked around. “Don't know where Halcyon is now but it's completely possible that he entered hyperspace when he heard.”

“Rostek!!!”

“There he is,” Bleek said, eyebrows raised. “Brace yourself.”

Rostek caught sight of Nejaa's dazzling smile from the other side of the room and experienced the sudden and unexpected urge to run for his life.

_What am I doing?_

He needed to get out of here. He needed space, or at least some _time_ , somewhere where he wasn’t absolutely dizzy with confusion and anxiety at the very _thought_ of Nejaa. The man was like some sort of narcotic, one of the more mind-altering ones, and Rostek couldn’t tell if he was overdosing or going through withdrawal. Either way, he felt jittery and incoherent.

Rostek wasn’t sure what the Force felt like but it really _did_ feel like he could tell when Nejaa was in the room or even about to _enter_ the room. It was like a million lights coming to life under his skin, attuned so strongly to the Jedi’s presence that he was resonating, almost deafening to his senses.

_It’s lust, you idiot._

It was only lust; just his body’s way of responding to someone he was attracted to. There was nothing mystical about that.

Of course, that didn’t make it any less disruptive. His mind kept wandering, full of fantasies that were growing increasingly detailed; sometimes even at work, which was especially dangerous because Jedi had the ability to read minds and Rostek was pretty sure that he might actually die of mortification if Nejaa ever found out what he was thinking.

Because it was obvious that Nejaa didn’t know what kind of effect he was having on him. Nejaa was a Jedi, they were celibate, they didn’t _do_ those things. He was just lonely and bored; that was why he kept showing up on patrols, why he wanted to help so badly, and why he was so enthusiastic about spending time together. Rostek was a diversion, a purely platonic one. Nothing more.

And yet: _“Relax.”_ His voice in Rostek’s ear, breath on his neck, arms around him, standing far too close. _“Relax,”_ even though it had the opposite effect—Rostek might never be able to relax again.


	5. Poised on the Perilous Point

Scerra wasn’t sure what to make of Rostek’s recent behavior. For a while, it seemed like things were getting better for him at work, his interactions with the Jedi had settled into a fun slightly-flirty equilibrium (one that Rostek vehemently denied, usually with a fierce blush on his face), and his life was returning to what for him counted as normal.

But now it seemed as though he couldn’t sit still. He sounded breathless all the time. He was jumpy and nervous and Scerra wanted to grab him and pin him in place until he stopped moving for just one second. Something had gone very askew with him and she honestly worried that he was going to hurt himself if this went on any longer.

Scerra didn’t like worrying about him. It made something in her chest flutter in a way that she preferred not to think about.

Something drastic needed to happen: something dramatic and risky and maybe even dangerous. Someone needed to upend Rostek’s life in a big way, and Scerra didn’t think she was up for that kind of intensity. Let that Jedi do the upending; Scerra was content to stand by and pick up the pieces when it was all over.

Things with the Avend case progressed to the point where it was about to go to trial, meaning that Scerra’s already paltry free time became non-existent for almost a month. Somewhere in there, she managed to go on one extremely unsatisfying date—one disastrous enough that she finally had a story that she was sure Rostek would find funny.

“…and then he turns to me and asks if I want to _see_ the droid, somehow missing the fact that I’m waving frantically at the waiter and am halfway out of my chair at this point,” she groaned at Rostek over dinner the following night.

“Maybe he thought you were so excited to see that droid that you couldn’t stand to wait any longer,” Rostek suggested with a grin.

“Look,” she said, gesturing at him while still holding her fork, “I’m as adventurous as the next person, but I draw the line at screwing droids. Oh, _and_ ,” she added, “while we were dividing up the bill, he started in on some nonsense about how we shouldn’t tip the waitress because Selonians don’t believe in tips, never mind that he’s human, doesn’t _know_ any Selonians—because I obviously _asked_ —and is just talking out of his ass because he’s either cheap or spiteful—”

“I’ve found that the two tend to go hand in hand.” He was finally starting to relax, Scerra noticed with relief.

“I ended up covering the tip for both of us, and he had the nerve to _argue_ with me about it. I got a great deal of satisfaction kicking him out of the speedercab when he tried to get in after me—and I mean literal kicking: I left a bootprint on his shoulder.”

“Well, he has someone waiting for him at home,” Rostek said, laughing, “so I suppose that’s a consolation.”

“For _him_ ,” she said sourly. “Meanwhile, I had to go home and angrily rub one out while trying not to look at my cleaner unit.” She sighed. “Got any good stories to share yourself?”

“Not really.”

“How’s your Jedi doing?” she asked.

“He’s not my—” Rostek began his usual protest, but froze mid-sentence. His eyes went wide as he stared at a spot just over Scerra’s left shoulder. “Oh no.”

“What is it?” Scerra asked as she turned around to look.

“He’s here.”

“He followed you?”

“I don’t know.” Rostek’s voice was almost shaking.

Then Scerra saw him; it wasn’t hard, since there weren’t a lot of people walking around in robes like that. He darted around a waiter, nearly knocking him over, but seemed not to notice in his enthusiasm to reach their table. He was a few centimeters shorter than Rostek—about her height, actually—with dark hair that looked like Scerra had already ruffled it, an equally dark goatee and, on his lovely brown face, one of the brightest smiles she had ever seen.

“Rostek! Hi!” he exclaimed as he got within range. Rostek, meanwhile, seemed too stunned to speak.

Scerra decided to introduce herself rather than wait for Rostek to figure out what planet he was currently on. “Hi there,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Rostek’s friend Scerra.”

His green eyes lit up as they met hers. “I’ve heard about you!” he said, taking her hand. The Jedi then grabbed a chair from the next table over and sat down with them. “I’m Nejaa. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” she said, unable to take her eyes off of him. Stars above, he _was_ cute. No wonder Rostek was in a state of mild panic all the time. “So did you follow him here?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Nejaa made what he probably thought was an innocent facial expression. “Would you believe me if I said I happened to be passing by?” he asked.

“I wouldn't believe you in the slightest,” she teased.

“How about if I said that I was following the wisdom of the Force?” He abandoned the pretense and gave her a mischievous grin.

“Then I would be very skeptical about your definition of ‘wisdom,’” she said with a laugh.

“It got me here, didn’t it?” Nejaa asked. He turned his sunny gaze to Rostek and leaned towards him, resting his elbows on the table. “I know we’re supposed to meet up in the morning, but I had some questions to ask you.” He made an attempt at another innocent expression, “I figured that if I found you I could just ask and then head home… or not,” he added with a hopeful look.

“What kind of questions?” Rostek asked.

Nejaa smiled sheepishly. “You know… I can’t remember right now. Sorry.”

Scerra almost slapped the palm of her hand against her forehead. Of all the transparent attempts at flirting… How in the Five Worlds did Rostek have any doubt as to what was going on here?

“Although, speaking of questions…” Nejaa said. He looked at Scerra and then back at Rostek again. “Are the two of you, uh…?”

“No—” Rostek and Scerra said simultaneously. This was far from the first time someone had asked them that question; though, to Scerra’s slight annoyance, Rostek’s denial was a little more forceful than usual.

Scerra had expected the Jedi’s response to be one of disappointment or relief, but instead he just looked confused.

Before he could ask any more questions or Scerra could start to explain, her comm beeped. She took the call in a quieter area: it was the manager of her apartment building.

She shouldn’t have been surprised.

Rostek knew from the expression on her face what had happened. “Not again,” he said, his voice a mixture of compassion and frustration.

She nodded, still feeling a little numb. “I’ll have to stop and get a roll of flimsi to cover the window.”

“What happened?” Nejaa asked.

“Someone trashed my apartment again,” she said flatly as she sank back down into her seat. “Broke the window, too.”

“‘Again?’” the Jedi repeated. “This happened before?”

“Twice before,” she said, barely registering his question. Her thoughts were preoccupied with compiling a mental list of what she would have to do when she got home. There would be transpariplast shards to clean up—her building wasn’t nearly nice enough for transparisteel windows—she’d have to take holos to document the damage for her insurance company and the building, file a report with CorSec that would be immediately ignored; they probably broke at least one appliance or electronic device and she would have to come up with the credits to replace it; she didn’t think anything would be missing but she would have to go through her possessions thoroughly and make sure, and then she would have to spend the night wondering if they were going to come back…

“I’ll take care of the check,” Rostek said softly, and went to go find the waiter.

Nejaa looked like he had dozens of questions on the tip of his tongue, but kept quiet and just watched her instead. Finally, he reached over and took one of her hands in his.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Scerra shrugged. “It happens.” She saw Rostek returning to the table. “Let’s go.”

* * *

It was both better and worse than she expected.

The window was a complete loss, but at least it had been broken from the inside this time; the majority of the shards were outside. Furniture had been knocked over and, in the case of her couch cushions, sliced open with a vibroblade. After the last incident, she replaced her old dishes with metal ones, but some of them were now severely dented. One looked like someone had stomped on it.

After she documented the damage, Rostek and Nejaa helped pick things up in her main living area while she tried to clean up her bedroom. Other than throwing the contents of her closet everywhere, they had left her bedroom mostly alone this time, which was a relief.

When she returned to the living area, she overheard Nejaa asking Rostek “I thought this was a safe neighborhood?”

“It is,” Rostek said. He went over to Scerra and wrapped her in a hug.

“Wish I could offer you a drink. They broke all my bottles,” she said glumly.

“I still owe you a dessert,” he said. “I’ll go grab that, plus a bottle of whiskey, all right?”

She nodded and he gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll be right back,” Rostek said. He looked over at Nejaa, who appeared to be debating who he should accompany. “It takes two people to get the flimsi securely attached to the window frame.”

Other than a few cursory instructions, she and Nejaa put the grey sheet of flimsiplast over the broken window in silence.

“I don’t get it,” Nejaa finally said, sounding both confused and upset. “Why didn’t he call this in? He didn’t even… I don’t know, look for clues?”

“CorSec won’t do anything,” she said, tugging one corner of the flimsi taut and securing it in the top right corner.

“Why not? Don’t you want to find out who did this?”

“I know who did this,” Scerra said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “The same people who did this last time, and the time before that.”

“Who are they?” Nejaa asked, beginning to get excited. “Let’s go deal with them!”

“It doesn’t matter who they are; just some hired thugs. At least, I’m pretty sure they were hired; the green jackets would be a little conspicuous.”

Nejaa froze. “You think someone from CorSec did this?”

“Did this? No. Ordered it?” She shrugged. “Well, I don’t have holovid evidence or anything, but the message wasn't subtle.”

“Why?” Scerra wanted to laugh at how appalled he looked. He had no idea.

“You must have heard about the Avend case by now,” she said. “I don’t know if Rostek told you that I’m working for the prosecution. The CorSec rank-and-file aren’t happy about the fact that it’s going forward.” She gave the bottom corner of the flimsi sheet another tug, probably harder than necessary. “And I’m the easiest target for harassment.”

Nejaa almost dropped his corner of the flimsi. “Does Rostek know?” he asked in a horrified whisper.

“Of course he knows,” Scerra practically snapped at him. “He just can’t do anything about it. It’s not like he’s had it easy himself—why do you think they keep sending the two of you into all of those risky situations?”

“What?” She could practically _see_ the thoughts swirling through Nejaa’s head as he tried to grapple with this. “Do you mean that they’re trying to—”

She sighed. “No, they’re not trying to get him _killed_ , they’re just trying to inconvenience him enough that he either quits the force or… well, quits _me_.”

“He would never do that,” Nejaa said. The intensity in his voice was nearly enough to punch through durasteel.

“I know,” she replied, almost as fiercely. She then laughed ruefully. “He’s surprisingly stubborn that way: once he gets attached, he’s _attached,_  and there’s nothing between here and the Deep Core that could alter his course.” She gave him a sly look. “I bet you’ve noticed that yourself.”

The Jedi looked away, his expression unreadable. “Attached,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Yeah.”

She had hit a nerve, apparently. “What about you?” she asked.

He looked back at her in alarm. “What about me?”

“I’ve heard that there aren’t a lot of other Jedi here on Corellia. That sounds lonely.”

“Well,” Nejaa said, “the Jedi Order’s views on attachments are a little different.”

Did she detect a note of bitterness in his voice? “Tell me more,” she said.

“More about what?” he asked warily.

She had gotten too close to something, Scerra realized, something that he didn’t want to discuss. “About the Jedi,” she said, keeping her voice light. “There are so many stories and it’s hard to separate fact from fiction.” She gave the flimsi one last pull and then secured it.

Nejaa appeared to relax a little. He smiled. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, I’ve heard you have some pretty impressive abilities. Rostek said you can absorb energy?”

“One of my specialties,” he said proudly, securing his end of the flimsi.

“What about moving things with your mind?” Rostek never mentioned him doing anything like that, but she had heard stories about other Jedi.

“Most Jedi can do that,” he said.

“Most?” she repeated. “Can you?”

His grin grew a little cocky. “Only if I stick my finger in a power socket first.” He started looking around the room. “Want to see?”

“No, that’s okay,” Scerra said quickly. She was sure that Nejaa was telling the truth, but the way her day had been going, she didn’t really want to deal with an electrocuted Jedi tonight on top of everything else.

“Suit yourself,” he said, still looking a little giddy. It was infectious, actually; she was beginning to feel better. He gave the flimsi a critical look. “Too bad this is opaque,” he mused aloud. “I didn’t get a chance to look very hard while we were putting this up. I bet the view is great.”

“One of the reasons why I refuse to move,” Scerra said. She closed the distance between them and stood next to him. “Guess I’ll have to invite you back at some point.”

“Guess so,” he said. That smile of his made her breath catch in her chest. “So: more questions about Jedi superpowers?”

“I heard somewhere about Jedi mind tricks,” she asked. “That you can wipe memories, or make people see things that aren’t there.” She raised her eyebrows. “Or even control them.”

Nejaa looked extremely uncomfortable. “Yes, that’s something that can be done with the Force,” he admitted. “It’s dangerous, though: manipulating minds is an easy thing to abuse. It’s not something I do unless I have a very good reason and know that it won’t be harmful.” He paused, then added, “Or unless I have permission.”

“What sort of things could you do if you had permission?”

“Are you offering?” he asked teasingly.

“I am,” she said.

He thought it over for a moment and then nodded. “Close your eyes,” he said. “Try to relax.”

As she closed her eyes, he moved to stand right behind her. “All right,” he said quietly into her ear. “Open them.”

Scerra opened her eyes and looked out the window. The flimsiplast sheet was gone: in its place was a view of city lights and spacelane traffic.

It was unfamiliar to her, though. “This isn’t Coronet City,” she said.

She felt the exhale of his laughter on her neck and she fought back a shiver. “Like I said, I didn’t get a good look out your window before we covered it up.” He rested his fingers lightly on her shoulders. “This is the view from the top of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.”

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. A completely different world, right outside her window. Without really thinking about it, she shifted her weight slightly so that she was leaning back against his chest.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, slowly running his fingers down her arms. “It was one of my favorite things to do when I lived there: go up as high as I could—either at the Temple or whatever other building I could sneak into—and stand on the roof, watching the city. Feeling it move, feeling it _live_. I loved it.”

“I can see why,” she murmured. Stars above, if this was what it was like being around Nejaa after only a few hours, she was astonished that Rostek had managed to hold up as well as he had.

The thought of Rostek made her step away from Nejaa. She went to sit on the couch instead; it faced the window, and the illusion of Coruscant was still present. “Thank you,” she said.

He sat next to her and the image out her window began to fade back into the grey sheet of flimsi. “My pleasure,” he said.

The way he looked at her, it was like she was the only person in the entire universe.

“How are you even real?” she said softly.

He winked. “Superpowers.”

She was verging on some slightly sketchy behavior, she realized. This was not what she had planned to do originally, but since the moment he showed up it was as if a dozen detonators were primed to explode and the tension was killing her, to the point where she would rather have everything blow up than wait any longer. Things couldn't go on the way they were anyway, not with Rostek half-dead with distraction and Nejaa blithely refusing to make any sort of move because even he seemed unable to tell if he was just kidding around. Something needed to happen to spur them into action and if she had to be the one to do it, then she would.

_Don't you dare, Scerra, don't you dare claim that you're doing this for Rostek's own good. You know better and, what's more, you know he'd call you on it too._

Scerra scowled at herself and hoped that it didn't show on her face.

“Any other questions?” Nejaa asked eagerly.

“I've heard that Jedi can read minds,” she said. “Is that true?”

“Well, technically,” he said, looking slightly uncomfortable again. “But, like the suggestion stuff, it's not something I would do without permission.”

“And what if I gave you my permission?” she asked as an idea started to form in the back of her head.

He smiled and it was as though her heart skipped a beat. “Then I suppose that would be all right.”

“Go ahead, then,” she said, scooting even closer to him on the couch. “I dare you.”

Something mischievous sparked in his eyes. “I'll just read your surface thoughts,” he said. “Nothing too intrusive.”

She closed her eyes and felt… something. Like the gentlest touch, feather-light, only instead of on her skin it was inside her mind. There he was.

Scerra originally planned to have him look at something about Rostek, something that would show him the effect he was having on her friend, but her treacherous thoughts decided to go in an entirely different direction.

Feeling a wicked grin spread across her face, Scerra thought about herself. Specifically, her body.

Very specifically, what her body looked like without any clothes on.

She heard the Jedi's sharp intake of breath and she opened her eyes. She could still feel the slight brush of his presence in her mind, and saw his eyes slightly widen as he looked at her. Not horrified, or even uncomfortable, just fascinated and a little surprised.

All he managed to stammer was a quiet “um” before Scerra leaned in and kissed him.

She had expected him to pull away, either to tell her that it was against the rules, or that he wasn't interested in her in particular or in women in general, or that he wasn't interested in anyone like that, or even that he was just interested in Rostek.

She hadn't expected him to kiss her back.

Not that she was complaining. She leaned in closer and could feel his breathing speed up. He had obviously never done this before, Scerra realized, because he seemed to have no idea what to do with his hands. She started to guide them down to her waist, then had another idea and climbed onto his lap, continuing to kiss him while straddling his hips.

Now that she was resting against him, she could feel surprisingly lean muscle underneath his robes. Scerra wondered how soon she could get him out of those Jedi clothes… she would probably have to be fairly straightforward about that; he was certainly enthusiastic but was going to need some directions if things were going to progress any further.

She slid her hands from his shoulders and down his chest, trying to locate some kind of route to what was underneath. She got all the way down to his hips, at which point he made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

After a few minutes, Nejaa started to get the hang of things, sort of, and some utterly unconnected part of Scerra’s mind began to picture herself laughing over this with Rostek later on—

Rostek.

Oh no.

Scerra looked up and saw him, standing just inside the door to her apartment, looking like he was about to be run down by a landspeeder.

Scerra scrambled off of Nejaa and onto her feet. She had no idea what to say. An apology? No, that wasn’t it. Besides, she wasn’t exactly sorry.

“I’ll, uh… I should go,” Rostek said; he sounded like he was being strangled.

“No, wait!” Scerra said, dashing forward, but Nejaa was faster: he leaped over the back of the couch and was almost up in Rostek’s face before she even got around to the other side.

Rostek held the bag he had brought back out in front of him like a shield. “It’s fine,” he said, almost stammering. “I should go home anyway, it’s really fine, you should just—”

“Stay,” Nejaa said. He took the bag out of Rostek’s hand and tossed it aside; Scerra couldn’t help wincing a little at the sound it made hitting the floor. She really hoped that the bottle hadn’t broken.

“I’m obviously in the way,” Rostek protested, trying to act unconcerned but not really managing it.

“Please,” Nejaa said, a note of panic beginning to work its way through his voice. “Please don’t go.” He put a hand on Rostek’s arm. “I don’t want you to go.”

The terrified look of impending doom on Rostek’s face somehow managed to intensify. He looked down at Nejaa’s hand and then back up at the Jedi’s pleading eyes and opened his mouth but was unable to make any sound at all.

The silence hung in the air for far too long. Completely fed up, Scerra finally yelled, “For crying out loud, will you two just _kiss already?_ ”

Nejaa practically pounced on him. For a moment, Rostek's posture stiffened and Scerra worried that he was going to pull back and leave anyway, but then it was as if something in him melted, and he relaxed into the kiss. His hand came up to cradle Nejaa's cheek, drawing his face closer, and looked for the first time in ages actually comfortable in his own skin.

Something in Scerra's chest fluttered very strangely.

Their lips finally parted and Rostek stood back, completely starry-eyed.

Nejaa turned to face her and, to her surprise, kissed her again. “I don't want you to go either,” he said softly.

“Well, that's a relief,” she couldn't help snarking, “seeing as this is _my_ apartment.” The fluttering sensation inside of her was growing stronger and she almost felt dizzy.

This could _not_ be what was about to happen.

Could it?

She looked over at Rostek and, as he met her gaze, something changed. She wasn't sure if it was something inside of her or inside of him, or somewhere between the two of them, or something tying all three of them together… but something passed between her and Rostek, some unspoken question answered, and when she looked back at Nejaa she realized that, yes, this was definitely about to happen.

“Come on,” she said, taking them both by the hand and leading them to the bedroom.


	6. To the Heart of Rest

_What in the Five Worlds just_ _happened_ _?_

Rostek had been perfectly sober, in command of all of his faculties, and his judgement was completely unimpaired. There wasn’t any suggestion that he had been mind-tricked or otherwise coerced. He had wanted this. He had absolutely consented to it, from beginning to end.

But everything from the last few hours was a blur: a tangle of limbs, breath, lips, sighs, shudders, every sensation crawling over and under his skin, leaving him panting and exhausted. Nejaa’s eyes, almost glowing green in the dark, gazing into his own and so trusting; all of him achingly beautiful, vulnerable, hungry for everything he could get—

And Scerra. She was as much a part of this as Nejaa was.

Rostek could have spent days just trying to puzzle through the implications of everything with Nejaa, but with Scerra that might take _years_.

This had never happened before. It had never even come _close_ to happening before, except for the odd incident when one of them was out of sorts, but even then they were smart enough to know that it would be a disaster.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love her or that she wasn’t attractive—because he definitely did and she definitely was—but there was just _too much_ between them. Too many years, too much history, too many confessions and secrets and arguments. Together, they were already bursting at the seams and there wasn’t room for anything more.

And yet, here they were. Here she was, dozing between him and Nejaa, the dark curls of her hair falling into her face and her legs tangled up in the blankets. Here _he_ was, watching her with utter fascination, and realizing that he was in her bed and naked—and now he was remembering what had happened only a short time ago, remembering through the blur, remembering how Nejaa had collapsed, spent, only Scerra wasn’t finished, she wasn’t done but Nejaa was still trying to figure out what was even going on, enthusiastic but so inexperienced, and so while Nejaa kissed her Rostek moved to her other side, lips brushing over the beautiful dark skin of her shoulders as his fingers slid down between her legs, stroking until she was spasming against his hand, until she was moaning into Nejaa’s mouth, until—

He wanted to do that again. He wanted to do all of that again. He wanted to touch them both and leave them gasping and know that he was the one who helped make that happen.

But along with the overwhelming desire was panic. Nejaa was just so much and so intense, and Rostek had no idea what was going to happen after this or what any of this even meant. And then there was Scerra and he was terrified because she was _Scerra_ ; this hadn’t ever happened before because that wasn’t what their relationship had ever been like, she was too close, too real—he felt like he was overflowing.

He needed to clean himself up anyway, so he scrambled out of bed and nearly ran to the refresher.

When he returned to the bedroom his heart began to race again. How was this happening? How was any of this happening?

Maybe Rostek should grab his things and go, take the opportunity to clear his head, somewhere without these two luminous creatures, somewhere—

“Sorry that it’s freezing,” Scerra whispered as she pushed her hair out of her face. “The flimsiplast doesn’t really provide any insulation.” She looked up at him and folded back a corner of the blankets. “You should get back under here.”

She asked him and he really wanted to, and it _was_ chilly, so he climbed back into bed. Nejaa was sprawled out on her other side, arms and legs taking up more than his fair share of the bed, a goofy grin on his face as he slept. In the space that remained, Scerra and Rostek were so close to one another that it was impossible for them not to touch. He felt suddenly shy and he could tell from the look on her face, only a few centimeters from his own, that she was feeling shy as well.

But, being Scerra, she pushed through it. “Did we just collectively deflower a thirty-three year-old _monk?_ ” she whispered delightedly.

Rostek laughed softly in disbelief. “I think that is exactly what just happened.”

“Do you think they give out prizes for that?” She was giggling; they were both giggling, in fact, leaning into one another until their foreheads were pressed together.

She was so close and he was terrified.

Might as well face it head on. “That was nice,” he said softly, almost inaudibly.

“It was,” she said. They were both trying not to look at each other but their faces were too close together for them to look anywhere else. “Thanks, by the way, for… doing that. That thing. I mean…” She trailed off, embarrassed.

This was silly. They talked about this sort of thing all the time, usually without any euphemisms, completely candidly. Just not in reference to each other. Not like this.

“This is weird,” she said at last.

“This is very weird,” he agreed.

“Not that I'm regretting it, I'm just… it's weird. I never made a contingency plan for if it ever happened between us, and now…”

“I don't know what to do either,” Rostek admitted, “but I don't regret it.” He hadn't been sure what to do with his hands when he first lay down, and now they were proving treacherous as he wrapped them around her waist and she did the same in return. He was aching but he had to think clearly about this. “There was a reason that this hadn't happened before, though.”

“We're too much,” she said, echoing his thoughts from earlier. She knew him too well. “We could never find a balance… an equilibrium.”

“It was always out of sync.”

“So why did this happen now?” she asked.

She didn't need to ask; they both knew the reason. “Him,” Rostek said. “He's like a counterweight, he changes the balance.”

“It shouldn't work,” she said, “but it does. Or at least it might.”

“Somehow.” He was stuck, frozen in place, too nervous to move. “This is such a terrible risk.”

“I think we stopped being safe a long time ago, Rostek.” She moved her hands up the length of his back—

He brought a hand up to her cheek and kissed her.

Only a second ago, he worried that she was too close—how could he have ever thought that she could be too close? He needed her closer, he needed her pressed against him, he couldn't bear to let her go. He pushed his fingers into her hair, her hands grazed back down towards his hips, drawing him closer—

“Hey.” It was Nejaa, sleepy grin still on his face, sitting halfway up. “Can I join?”

“Absolutely,” Rostek murmured, pulling him in.

“Counterbalance,” Scerra said with a smile. “We need you.”


End file.
